It Takes All Kinds
by Lor-tan
Summary: A collection of requested drabbles written in response to all kinds of ships, but a broader range of the term ships is used so friendships and rivalries are included, hence the name. I already have some pretty odd ones so I hope you enjoy and maybe even request something yourself! I promise it's okay. Updated whenever I feel like it.
1. Let's Try Together

Summary: I really like writing drabbles, and I like taking challenges from my readers. So this is a collection of Harry Potter drabbles dealing with different ships which you, the readers, will suggest in addition to what is already posted. I'm going with a more general meaning of shipping, meaning that not only romantic relationships are accepted, but friendships and rivals and unrequited as well, and really just about any form of interaction based relationship. Hence the title. So if you have a pairing you would like to see, say, unrequited between Harry and Sirius, or Harry and Ginny being good friends in addition to lovers, then just leave a review and I'll see what I can do!

Multiple drabbles per ship will happen, but each will be different, obviously.

I cannot guarantee to do your request, and for that matter, I cannot guarantee that even if I do write it, I will write it completely according to your instructions. I will maintain my creative freedom, thank you.

Ships, warning, rating, and the person who requested it will be at the beginning of each chapter, unless they wish to remain anonymous. Take note that this collection is also posted on Archive.

I will try to keep it between K and T, but take notice of chapter warnings.

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Chapter Warnings: Unrequited between Harry and Neville, and Neville/Luna. Written at the request of Aianoir, but I added the Neville/Luna of my own accord.

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Neville is the screw-up, the joke of the school.

Harry is Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, and he is the joke of the world.

They see each other as much as jokes generally do. Passing in the hall, on the same side of the room in classes, in the infirmary when they happen to pull some stupid mistake with similar timing, Harry's generally intentional and Neville's generally not.

When Harry is teaching DA and right behind Neville, telling him not only everything he's doing wrong but also everything he's doing right.

When Neville feels almost physical pain over Harry's mistakes in Herbology and can't stop himself from going over to help because Merlin, that is simply not the correct way to repot anything, plant or otherwise.

When Harry is in the air at a Quidditch game and Neville thinks that it would be awfully nice to be up there with him.

When Harry isn't in the air at a Quidditch game, and Neville still thinks it would be awfully nice to be there with him anyway, but the seats next to him are almost always full.

When Harry is dead in Hagrid's arms and Voldemort has won, and Neville can't remember what he does wrong or what he does right, so much as he can remember one blindingly white smile that he always wished would be aimed at him more often.

And then he isn't, and he hasn't, and years later at a wedding, Neville sees that smile again. Aimed at someone else, yes.

But it's there, and Neville doesn't really mind Harry smiling for someone else. He's got a beautiful blond Ravenclaw as his plus one, and he's moving on.

He's just glad that they're not jokes anymore, but epics instead.


	2. Could, Would, Should Have

Unrequited Tom/Harry, background Draco crushing on Tom. Vaguely sad. Requested by Aianoir.

xXx

Sometimes Tom watches Harry.

He's the perfect Gryffindor, Tom often thinks with a grimace of distaste and a moment of regret.

If things had gone only a bit differently, he could have been the perfect Slytherin.

He wears too much muggle clothing, Tom often thinks with a sneer of disgust and a smidgen of longing.

If things had gone only a bit differently, they would have both been wearing muggle clothing, and still living in an orphanage.

He smiles a lot, Tom often thinks with a frown and a unsettling bump in his chest.

If things had gone only a bit differently, they wouldn't be in different houses, with different friends and different lives, and that smile would be for him.

Shame, that, Tom thinks as he turns back and smiles as happily as he can at Draco, who grins right back, with pink dusted cheeks and continues talking, ignorant of what has just happened.

If things had gone only a bit differently, Tom should have not felt gnawing emptiness in his chest where his heart was supposed to be.


	3. The Wishing Well

Sirius and Severus DON'T hate each others guts. Written for chapter 74 of The Bunny Pool on Archive, (RIP) prompt: Squib Sirius Black befriends Severus Snape and they go off searching for a magical well said to grant wishes.

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Sirius has only ever had one friend. Severus.

He's not handsome, in fact his hair is greasy from being unwashed and his skin is rather pale and his dark eyes are often being rolled caustically.

He's not friendly, in fact he's often impatient and snaps frequently, and sometimes when he's angry he says terrible things about wizards born without magic.

He's not gentle, in fact his hugs are jerky and far and few between, and last time he had to heal Sirius' scraped knee he didn't even give him fair warning before washing out the wound with a potion he had brewed, intending to sell. And then he had grumbled about wasting a potion.

He's not a pure blood, in fact his father is a muggle, and they both agree to hate the man because of the scars on Sev's back.

But when his eyes aren't rolling Sirius thinks they're rather nice to look at.

And he always apologises for what he says when he's angry.

And Sirius is honestly surprised that he bothered with the potion in the first place.

And Sirius is a squib, so they're even on that.

Sirius has only ever had one friend, and honestly? That's all he's ever needed to wish for. The well is abandoned without a second glance.


	4. Poltergeists and Featherlights

So this was my first request from the comments on Archive, and it was just as weird as I was hoping for. Is there even a ship name for Peeves and Moaning Myrtle? Meeves? Can we make Meeves a thing, even if it isn't already? I dunno. Anyhow, moving on, this was written for Trickster32, on Archive. Also, a warning for character death and hair pulling.

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When Myrtle was younger, back before her death, while she was still a nervous Ravenclaw student, she had another problem besides her bad grades, less then ideal looks, and hopeless crush on the Slytherin named Tom Riddle.

That problem went by the name of Peeves.

Yes, Peeves the poltergeist. He was, technically, a problem to everyone. He pulled girls hair, stuck gum in key holes, and if parchment was left unguarded anywhere for more then a few second, he would be there immediately, scattering the pages to the wind.

Myrtle had it a little worse, though. You see, Peeves had taken an especial shine to Myrtle at some point during her miserable school career, and she didn't much appreciate it, because the only form of attention Peeves gave was bad attention.

He did more then pull her hair, he once ripped a chunk of it out.

He put gum between the pages of her textbooks and stuck to the back of her jacket.

Sometimes her notes weren't just scattered, they were obliterated completely.

But it was the day he shredded her homework the morning it was due that was the last straw. They were in an empty corridor; no one wanted to walk to class with silly Moaning Myrtle, as Peeves had often pointed out to her in his teasing. Normally this made her terribly sad and weepy, but today she decided to look on the bright side: this meant that there was no one to hear her snap and start screaming.

And Peeves just stayed there through her vent, a stupid grin on his stupid face, making Myrtle grow steadily angrier and angrier until she gave one final screech of frustration and stormed past, still fuming.

"You look really pretty when you're angry!"

Myrtle gasped, and spun around, but Peeves was already gone.

After being late for class and not turning in her homework, Myrtle got scolded by the teacher, and assigned detention after dinner. She never made it to detention though, because that evening during dinner, Olive Hornby makes fun of Myrtle's glasses, and she's already had such a terrible day that it all built up and she ran away in tears.

In a bathroom she finds solace, and is sobbing and stiffling to her hearts content when the door opens. She hears whispering, or is that hissing? She calls hello in a shaky voice and reaches for the door handle. If Olive is here to make fun of her again, she might as well face it now, she thinks as the door swings open and bangs against the next stall over, instead of later when her face is finally cleared and there are people around.

It's not Olive, she realizes when she sees yellow.

And then she dies.

Only she doesn't realize that at first. When she comes to a few minutes later, she doesn't realize she's a ghost, not until she sees her still body laying stone cold on the floor and in her shock at the sight, she falls straight back through the stall door, where she stays crying until the door opens again.

Olive is the first to find her body, and Myrtle doesn't stick around for long after that.

Then Peeves is the first to find the rest of her.


	5. I'd Put U and I Together

I feel it is worth mentioning that before I even start on the new requests I'm going to post the already finished drabbles first. So expect a few more chapters before I start on any of the requests from here. And if you're like, wait, but some of these are requests from someone here, well yeah, I had some friends request stuff long ago and I sent it to them privately before posting it on Archive. So I'm not playing favourites or anything, don't worry, it's just that those chapters were already written. Although admittedly I probably will play favourites at some point in the future, so in the meantime feel free to attempt becoming one of my favourites. Flattery never hurt anyone.

It is also worth mentioning that the original title to this chapter was "Orange You Glad I Didn't Say Banana Again?" which I thought was hilariously suitable, but apparently FanFiction does not like long chapter titles, so I had to change it. Pity. But this one's pretty cute too, so I guess I'll let it slide.

And as for this chapter, the ship is Drarry. Draco pretends not to know what he's doing but he does, and Harry thinks he knows what he's doing but really he doesn't. Written for NevilleGonnaGiveYouUp. There's an apocalypse, but I don't really think that counts as a trigger unless you're a survivor of one, in which case I guess you're a time traveller, or something, and frankly you should hold yourself in better form than complaining about a potentially triggering Harry Potter fanfic. Go travel to the eighteen sixties, or something, and keep your thoughts to yourself.

xXx

The apocalypse had happened. And somehow, that wasn't the worst thing. Worse then seeing the landscape in dissaray, Hogwarts reduced to rubble, the earth torn, the fact that they were currently roasting snakes so they wouldn't starve, and the people dying of sickness, there was one thing that, in comparison shouldn't have been that bad, but somehow was.

Draco had picked up a muggle joke book. And he thought it was utterly halarious.

"Hey. Hey Harry. What do you call a cow with a twitch?"

"Oh god help me." Harry groaned, dropping his head into his arms.

"Ha! Wrong. Beef jerky. Get it? Do you get it?" Draco asked, oblivious to the other's suffering.

A pause, then, "Harry. Do you have a band aid? "

Harry's head popped up, and he craned his neck around to get a look at the blond and look him over for any obvious wounds. "Are you bleeding? Are you okay?" He asked, concerned. "Do you need me to cast episkey?" Tetanus was everywhere in the soil and could be fatal, and as annoying as Draco could be, he didn't want him to die.

"I just scraped my knee falling for you." Draco said proudly, waving the book at Harry with a smug smile on his face, and Harry blinked.

"Wot." He said, eyeing Draco warily for a few moments before realizing that Draco had absolutely no idea that what he had just said was a muggle pick up line. Did he even know what a band-aid was? Harry continued to stare at Draco for a few more moments before shaking his head, and turning back to the fire. "Shut up." He sighed.

Draco remained silent for exactly ten seconds, (Harry had counted) before he started talking again, his previously smooth and mischievous voice now laced with confusion. "Harry, can you explain this one to me?" He asked, and Harry sighed before nodding. Another second passed, and Draco sat down next to him, leaning on him and shoving the book in his face, pointing to the section in question.

"Are you a parking ticket? Because you've got fine written all over you." Harry read monotonely, his entire self utterly unimpressed before he realized something. "Um, Draco? You know what parking tickets are. We saw the no parking signs by that old mall. Didn't I explain them to y-" Harry stopped talking when he looked at the other boy and realized that Draco was smirking.

"Oh. Shit. Dra-!" Harry was interrupted rather abruptly by a kiss.


	6. Flower Power is Essentially Useless, pt1

Luna decides to give Snape some relationship advice. Snarry. Luna and Snape have some sort of wacky relationship where Luna thinks they're friends but really they're not. Written for Aianoir. The only warning I can think of is that Luna might get food poisoning later on, but at the same time she may honestly just be invulnerable to pernicious edible substances by now. Are snake fangs edible? We may never know.

xXx

Today, like most recent days when he had to teach first year Ravenclaws, was quickly proving to be exhausting. The reason for this exhaustion that was rarely associated with first year Ravenclaws so much as it was second year Gryffindors, or for that matter, any class whatsoever when Slytherins and Gryffindors mixed, was currently eating a dittany stalk.

"Lovegood. Spit that out." He ordered crossly, attempting to glare at the girl in question, not that it would do any good.

"Yes, sir." Luna answered smoothy, spatting the plant out and then picking up a rose blossom instead.

Snape swatted it out of her hand before she could get it to her mouth. "Don't eat that, either. Or," He said, as she went for the blueberries. "any of your potions ingredients."

Luna paused, and dropped her hand with a surrendering look. "Fine. But I don't think that just because you're crushing on one of us, you should punish all of your students." She said, a bit snarkily, and started chopping what was left of her dittany.

"What."

"You heard me." She said, sounding a bit like a put upon mother, and started working on crushing her snake fangs, occasionally licking the ivory colored powder off her fingers. "I don't think that you should punish us all just because you've got your eyes on Harry Potter."

"I- I don't- detention, Miss Lovegood!" He finally managed to croak out, but all she did was start humming and bopping her head.


	7. Say Yes to the Dress

Luna and Ginny are friends. Written for Streitkartoffel on Archive, based on the prompt of Luna just randomly showing up whenever advice is needed, before disappearing just as quickly. No warnings. I mean, not really.

xXx

"It's not quite you." Someone said gently from behind her, as Ginny was staring contemplatively down at her dress for the Yule Ball.

It was a pretty thing, she supposed. For something worn a good twenty or so years prior by her mum, at least. Like almost everything in her family, it was a handmedown. She may have been able to avoid some of the reusing by being born a girl, but even she could not avoid it entirely.

It was a deep, dark, dull green, olive almost, with a respectable neckline and a tiny bit of decorative gathering at its tight, belted waist, specifically designed to show off one's waist line, and a tiny hint of creamy white hand crochet lace peeking from the bottom.

Definately pretty.

Yet she couldn't help feeling like the voice was right, that it was a bit... not her. It was her mother, sure, especially when paired with the multicolored knitted shawl it had been sent with, and the pearly brooch, with a spattering of real diamond flecks inlayed into the newly shined silver.

But she wasn't her mother.

And it wasn't her.

"Isn't it?" She asked anyways, picking the dress up and holding it against her, and turning to meet Luna's silvery gaze. How in the world her friend had gotten into the Gryffindor girls dorms was beyond her, but no doubt Luna had her ways.

"No. It's not the right kind of bright, and it isn't lovely at all. And you look prettiest with your hair down. Or maybe with little bits tied back. Like a crown." Luna said softly, and started playing with a chunk of her own hair.

Ginny turned to the mirror, and looked at herself, and wondered how Luna knew she had been planning to put her hair up. Lavender must have told her at some point.

Then, when she looked back, Luna was gone.

And she would never know how the hell she had gotten in in the first place.

xXx

Was anybody else ever bothered by how Luna-ish Ginny's ball gown was in the movies? I feel like Luna probably had a part in that, so that's what I wrote. And after this, she probably went back once Ginny had left the room for something, and left one of her own dresses. And detailed instructions on how to tie Ginny's hair back in a very precise way.

Thanks for reading, and byeeeeee!


	8. Janitor and Juliet

... Oh god, how do I explain this? Umbridge/Filch. Written for RJ311 on Archive. I don't actually know what warnings would apply, but please proceed with caution.

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From the very start, theirs was a forbidden love.

She was a beautiful witch from the upper society. With pretty brown hair as silky as the velvet bow that rested on it and a melodious voice, clothed in heavenly looking pink jumpers and green tweed.

He was a lowly squib janitor, with shabby clothes and a worn face, and rough skin on his hands.

She bossed him around like she was expected to, and he always did as asked, thinking that maybe, maybe someday, they could break these constraints and truly love one another.

Day after day, looking into those pretty, controlling eyes, he would give her a small smile and do whatever task she had set for him. Be it just regular cleaning, nailing up rule after rule, or hunting down troublemakers.

He never even got a word of thanks.

But he knew, even after she had been sent off to Azkaban, that forbidden as it was, they loved one another deeply.

And besides, Filch thinks, pushing his broom.

They would always have their shared love of cats.

xXx

What have I done.

'kay, so not too happy with this, but someone requested it and I did do it, so you hafta give me some credit for that, okay? Never say that I'm a quitter. I was going for funny, but then that sixth line happened and it ended up vaguely sad. I'm sorry. Also, sorry for missing a few nights recently. I just got busy, really. But I'm back! Whoohoo!

Anyhow, thanks for reading, have a luverly day, and byeeee!


	9. Silly Thoughts

Ginny/Harry and Ginny/Tom. Written for myself during an absence of requests while posting on Archive. Don't you judge.

xXx

Ginny doesn't just love Harry because he's famous and she isn't, or because he's rich and she's poor, or because he's a Potter and she's a Weasley.

She knows that some people think that, though.

Ginny doesn't do a lot of things for the reasons some people think she does them. She doesn't befriend Luna because she pities her. She just think the dreamy Ravenclaw girl seems interesting. She doesn't play quidditch for the attention. She just likes the wind in her face, and being good at something. She doesn't recover immediately after the Tom Riddle's diary incident. She just slowly stops missing the feeling of having a friend in her pocket, of having someone who always knows what to say, and someone who thinks she's more then everyone else seems to think she is.

Someone who thinks that she's maybe a little bit special.

xXx

Tom you manipulative little muffin.

Also, yes, I know that I am basically the worst when it comes to updating on time. Sorry 'bout that.

Thank you for reading, please leave a request, and have a lovely day! Byeeeeee!


	10. Myths and Match

So someone requested a prompt with the twins and this isn't it but I can't actually write for the twins without writing at least one sad thing, so I figured I'd get it all out first before writing what was actually requested. Written for Streitkartoffel on Archive. Warning for being incredibly depressing, and the loss of a twin. *internal screeching*

xXx

So many things will never be done again, George sometimes thinks to himself.

He'll never again pull a prank with his laughing double, never again make mischief and crack jokes with his grinning partner in crime. There will be no more finishing one another's sentences and speaking in turn, and no more wandering the halls past curfew, simply marvelling at the phenomenon of having someone with him, someone who essentially is him but also completely different, someone who just gets him before he even gets himself.

Sometimes he looks at new pictures and feels like someone's cut a vital part out with scissors and replaced the missing piece with a spell, because there's an empty spot beside him that used to be filled.

Sometimes he sees himself in the mirror and gasps, before abruptly wishing he hadn't, because the face gasps right back and it's not mockingly, it's just really his face in the reflection, the mirror doing its job like a slap to the face.

Sometimes he'll pause in the middle of a sentence waiting for someone else to finish it, before realizing that it's never going to happen, and that everyone is waiting for him to finish with a pitying expression on their faces.

Sometimes he has to smile to himself because he knows that that's the closest he's going to get.

It's a myth that twins feel one another's pain, and he's thankful for that, because wherever Fred is, he doesn't want him to be hurting like he is ever since he looked down and saw his own lifeless eyes staring up at him, and realized that it all was over, all of it, everything he cared about in the world, over and gone like a dream he'd been woken up from.

But sometimes he also wishes it was true, because he wishes he could have least felt his brother leaving, and have been there to say goodbye, because it's hard living with a ghost of things never to be done again following your every footstep.

xXx

Still have your souls, I hope?

...Okay so I'm just gonna go and hug Ren now, 'kay? 'Kay.

Thanks for reading and for all the fish, feel free to leave a request, and byeeee!


	11. The Art and Trials of Lock Picking

The previously promised twin fic that doesn't include death. Written for Streitkartoffel.

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_The Time: 10:32, thirty to minutes past curfew, on a school night._

_The Place: Outside of Filch's office._

_The Initiative: Break into the aforementioned office._

_The Culprits to be: Fred and George Weasley, of course. Who else?_

"Do you have the thing?" Asked Fred quietly. Or was it George?

"Whoa, I thought you were bringing the thing!" Exclaimed George in a loud sort of whisper, or was it Fred?

"Well I thought you were!"

Well I didn't, because I thought you were!" George spat, and they fell silent, glaring at one another, that special kind of anger that only they could feel towards one another. How could you screw up so badly when you're me?

"Gred?" Said Fred eventually.

"What?" Grumbled his twin crossly. In reply, Fred burst out laughing, which did nothing for keeping them uncaught, and tossed the transfigured bobby pin at the other.

"You should have seen your face!" He giggled, and slapped a hand over his mouth to keep his chortles from giving them away. "Of course I had it! What sort of failure do you think I am?"

His answer came in the form of a stinging hex followed by a hug, before George finally joined him in muffled laughter.

They approached the door, arms slung over one another and George brandishing the weapon of their choice, a transfigured bobby pin.

If magical methods of entry didn't work, why not try muggle?

_The Time: 10:40, forty minutes past curfew, on a school night._

_The Place: Outside of Filch's office._

_The Initiative: Get back to Gryffindor territory undiscoverered._

_The Culprits: Fred and George Weasley, of course, who else?_

xXx

Yeah, I still hate this a little bit. It kind of sucks, doesn't it?

Thanks for readings, please have a great day, and leave a review or a request if it should strike your fancy! Byeeeeee!


	12. Isn't It Just One Big Soap Opera

Draco crushing hard on Charlie Weasley. It is presumably unrequited. Warning for Draco still being somewhat inherently a Malfoy, even if in this fic he lives with the Tonks family. I guess attitude is just genetic. Written for Melati Asri on Archive.

xXx

This, Draco thought, this tall, freckled handsome hunk of Gryffindor sitting on his Aunt Andromeda's couch, was the bane of his existence.

He despised it almost as much as he swooned at the sight of it.

"Oh, hey, Draco!" Charlie said politely when he finally noticed Draco at the doorway, and lunged to his feet, grinning madly. The blond boy struggled not to go weak in the knees.

Merlin's fishnets, he was doomed.

"Um, hello, Charlie." Draco mumbled. Not that a Malfoy would ever mumble. "What're you doing here? "

Charlie's smile was brighter then a lightbulb. "Tonks and I are going to go hang out while I'm in town and she's got the day off from training! I'm just waiting for her to put on something other then her pajamas. " His eyes twinkled with amusement, and Draco about died. "You wanna come?"

"Inviting my kid brother now, are you?" A new voice interrupted before he could reply, and Draco looked over his shoulder to see his cousin grinning at him, her hair bright pink and her eyes turning violet, wearing jeans and a leather jacket instead of her flannels. "Not that I mind, of course, Drakey. Letting loose for a while would do you good! Don't want to get wrinkles, do ya?" She asked him brightly and slipped into the room to grab a handful of floo powder from the fireplace.

"A Malfoy never gets wrinkles." Draco said snootily in response, and smiled when she giggled, before he remembered that Charlie was still standing right there and he immediately shut up. "And, uh, no, I think I have some summer homework left to do. Have fun though!" He said quickly.

Tonks shrugged and threw the powder into the dying flames, called out the name of what sounded to Draco like some stereotypical dirty old pub, and waved as she disappeared.

Charlie gave him one last smile before he followed, and as soon as the green flash faded, Draco's knees buckled and he wobbled over to the nearest sofa, where he sat and buried his face in his hands.

"Even I found that painful to watch." The painting of some distant relative that hung above the fireplace said matter of factly, flipping her blond hair back and hugging the little red dachshund in her lap closer. "And I've sat through soaps with Andy."

xXx

For some reason the moment I admitted that I'm terrible at dialogue that's all that my brain was coming up with. Isn't that just the way it is.

Also, I have a lot going on and decided that if I forget to post a chapter for one or two nights, the world will probably go on.

Thanks for reading, feel free to leave a request if you have one, and byeeee!


	13. Black Hearted

Harry thinks Bellatrix is his mum. Written for Chapter 179 of The Bunny Pool, which has been since removed from Archive. Warning for spiders, scars, and the general things that one would expect to happen with any child risen by Bellatrix Lestrange.

xXx

"Harry!" Bellatrix yelled, marching through the tiny rooms of the house that she, her husband, and the kidnapped Potter infant had been forced to live in since the hunt for leftover Death Eaters had begun shortly after the Dark Lord's fall.

She hated the house and all that it stood for. But one small mercy was that there weren't a lot of rooms for a boy to get lost in.

She found the three year old under the kitchen table, covered in spiders, looking out between the table legs at her with a happy smile on his squishy, scarred face.

Okay, so maybe she'd dropped him or lost track of him a few times over the years. So what? He was still living, wasn't he? And he did have most of his fingers and toes.

"Harry!" She snapped , and stalked forward. "I've been calling for you! Why didn't you come!" It was more of an accusation then a question, and Harry knew it.

"Mumma!" He burbled anyways. "Tommy says tha spiwer aren't the killers. The Chamber is bedder den dat."

Bellatrix rolled her dark eyes and dropped onto her hands and knees, crawled halfway under the table, and dragged him out from under it, giggling along with him when spiders skittered over her hands and up her arms.

"Tell Tommy to stop dragging you off for secrets at nap time, then, you little brat!" She crooned, and scrambled clumsily up, keeping the little boy tucked to her chest as she rose. "He can haunt you while you dream instead."

"I don't have a naptime!" Harry exclaimed, and looked at her with big green mudblood eyes on a face that screamed Black.

"Don't you?" Bella asked, surprised. "What do you have, then?"

"We hurt any da people who knock onna door and eat sweets." He told her seriously, with three year old frankness that only the extremely honest or extremely manipulative toddler could manage.

"...of course. My mistake." She told him indulgently.

Clearly he had the Black spirit, too.

xXx

I actually want to write a longer fic along these lines because, well, I think it would be fun. But for now, this seemed like something doable. And vaguely realistic, in that odd way that fictional characters can be. I mean, honestly, did you really think _anyone_ Bella raised would walk away unscathed?

Anyhow, thanks for reading, have a nice day, and please feel free to drop a comment or a request for me to consider! Byeeeeee!


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Ginny loves her brothers. Rated for... I'm not actually sure what to call it. Vague elements of incestuous thoughts? Mistletoe ponderings? Requested by anonymous, aka, no one in particular, why you askin'?

xXx

Ginny loves her brothers, all six of them, starting at Bill and ending with Ron.

They're all the best boys she knows, each one smart and funny and strong and willing to protect her, each in their own way.

They each smile at her and tell her how they love her, and she returns the gestures with the knowledge that every word, every grin, every look shared between the seven of them, is one hundred percent true.

Yet, once she wakes up after the Chamber of Secrets, those smiles seem a bit more strained, and the words "would die for you" are added on.

She doesn't want anyone to die for her, but she appreciates the sentiment, and loves the hugs.

And if she sometimes enjoys running into them under the mistletoe at Christmas time a little bit too much from then on, then, well.

She doesn't think that much more needs to be said.

xXx

I may be a little bit demented. I don't much care, though. And you can't say that I'm not good at it.

Also yes, the actual chapter title is Chapter Fourteen. See if you can figure it out.

Thank you for reading, have a very nice day, and feel free to leave a request! I mean, it probably wouldn't kill you. At least, I don't think. Maybe if you request something particularly demented and your parents find out. Anyhow, byeeeee!


	15. Into the Woods

Harry and Ginny are friends, possibly more, and their relationship with the creature in the forest is unclear, but presumably at least somewhat romantic. Written for dedybear on Archive, but with considerable changes from the original request, because that is my right as the writer. And they loved it anyways.

xXx

There's something in the woods around Harry's school, Hogwarts. He'd seen it.

With long black arms and pretty red eyes the colour of roses and a lower half of twisting, constantly contorting shadows, it is the stuff of nightmares.

With a face more handsome then an artist could dream and a voice like violin music, it is the stuff of dreams you wake from, wishing you were asleep again.

Ginny's seen it too. Some kids have. Some kids haven't. It's not out at a certain time, or in a certain place. It just chooses to reveal itself when it wishes. Some people say the whole thing is made up, and that's what Harry wants to disprove.

They're hoping it will be out tonight. They're going to go out and actually look for it tonight, despite cerfew, despite Ginny's friend Luna and her frantic warnings.

Hermione was supposed to come. And Ron. But Ron was already asleep, and Hermione tried to bite when they tried to take her book away. Evidently the upcoming tests are not sitting well with the bushy haired maiden.

Harry and Ginny go into the woods alone.

They never come back out.

You see, there really is something in the woods around Harry's school. A creature with a face like sin and bright red eyes and twisting shadows instead of feet. There are two children in its lair, one a boy and one a girl, black hair and bright ginger, green eyes and mocha brown.

They know its name.

xXx

I don't even know what I'm writing, but it's late so that's my excuse. That and that I once read this great fic where Tom was a monster in the forest and Harry was freaking terrified that he would kill everyone he loved, and that clearly bled into this in some ways.

Poor Luna though. People really should listen to her more often.

Thank you for reading, leave a request if you like, (I am nearing the end of already published ones so I'll be starting on the new ones at some point soon) and byeeeeee!


	16. Watch Me Watching You

Tom Riddle/Ginny Weasley. Requested by Any Anon, but changed from the original request in that it's never explicitly mentioned whether or not Tom is even real. The original request was "Ginny x Tom with CoS as canon but them some how meeting later on."

xXx

Sometimes, even after the Chamber of Secrets is long lost history to everyone but her and Harry, Ginny sees him in the shadows.

Dark hair, darker eyes, and a face like sin.

Watching her.

Seeing through her.

Charisma rolls off him in waves, his confidence and ambition tempting like a flytrap to an insect. He's beauty reincarnate, a classic, timeless kind of handsome, the kind that has existed since the beginning of time and always will.

Sometimes he smiles, sometimes he smirks. Sometimes he glares at her with pure hatred in his dark eyes, turning them red. Mostly he just stares.

She knows no one else sees him.

Some twisted part of her enjoys it, and thinks that that's the best part of seeing Tom Riddle. Even after all this time, the thing that originally attracted her to him remains the same, and it still holds true.

He's all hers and hers alone, and she doesn't have to share him with anybody.

He's all hers, and she intends to keep it that way.

She sees right through him, too, after all.


	17. No Matter What (Or How I Love You)

Harry/Tom. Written for myself, by myself. Warnings for the massive AN at the end and for being unusually long.

xXx

Harry never really grew up. Which was fine, Tom is pretty sure. Maybe. He didn't really mind taking care of the younger man. He never has, even when they were just little boys and Tom was struggling to keep them both afloat in the orphanage, a demon's child and a "special " teacher's pet.

And it's not as if Harry doesn't occasionally manage a moment or two if surprising clarity and maturity, lucid poking through his craziness for a mere fraction of time before he's back in five year old seer mode, speaking in simple broken sentences about things that seem mundane but later reveal themselves to be serious. Like one day when he asked Tom if he was feeling tired after work, looking surprisingly shrewd for a second, then before Tom could reply he dropped the bomb that there would be a second world war and gave Tom the puppy eyes for no apparent reason, before wandering off to curl up under the kitchen table, one of his favourite spots to hole up and get lost amongst the visions.

(Tom, at the time, was not sure whether to be concerned about another war or amazed that he still even fit under there. Even if his husband was still more or less a child, he was a full grown man, albeit a bit on the small and fragile side, and yet he always seemed determined to squeeze himself into nooks and crannies, as if he was still hiding from the world after all these years.)

Still. Even if it was supposedly fine, sometimes being married to someone with the mental capacity of a kitten was endlessly frustrating, in the strangest, saddest of ways.

Because what bothered Tom wasn't that Harry wasn't willing to help Tom, (he very much was, Harry sometimes seemed to essentially be a housewife for all his dedication to doing all of the household chores.) or that he was still not the talkative type. (He absorbed words like a sponge, but let them out like a very extremely slow hour glass.) It wasn't even the fact that sometimes Tom came home and Harry literally couldn't remember him.

(It had stung horribly the first few times, but after a few years of coming home to blank eyes and a tentative "...dad?" (Apparently their resemblance of one another had only grown with age) he had grown used to having to reintroduce himself to his own husband. It helped that he had acquired a pensieve just for those occasions.)

No, it wasn't any of those things, as much as they hurt him or bothered him or didn't. What annoyed him more than anything else was that, when Harry hadn't grown up, he lost the excuse of "he's only young. But he'll grow up."

Harry, Tom had to face it now, would never really grow up. Which was fine, Tom was pretty sure. He still didn't really mind, and doubted he ever would. He loved Harry just the way he was: birds nest hair, expressive killing curse eyes, penchant for spiders and rock collecting, constant mumbling and helpfully handing out things a person wouldn't need until days later, hiding in dark spaces, and all.

He just wishes that he could at least know that, when Harry gives him those big green puppy eyes and mumbles that he loves him before spouting random facts about next weeks weather, he could know for sure that the other actually knew what he was talking about, and wasn't just a scared kid trapped in an adults body, trying to please the only reliable figure in his life.

xXx

So like, this is actually an AU that I really love, the whole, Seer!Harry in Tom Riddle's time, and they're friends, thing. Really it's more of a combination of AUs, but whatever.

So in this version, we're going to say that little Harry was mysteriously pulled through space and time, at some point along the way handed the ability to see the future, and he's been significantly effected by this event in several ways. He's pretty much what I assume a child who went through the Dursley's abuse followed by a mostly loveless childhood at an orphanage would be like, and as you can tell, he's a bit dotty from being a seer as well. He stopped maturing mentally and emotionally at a pretty young age. Tom, of course, instantly became interested in the new kid who could literally _see the future_, even if no one else believed it to be anything but bizarre coincidences, and took Harry under his wing, more or less, quickly forming a tight attachment when he realized that they were both freaks, even if Harry was better accepted by their peers, somehow. (Dunno why, exactly, but he was super helpful, I suppose) Their relationship continued all through Hogwarts, Tom at some point falling in love with his friend and not bothering to deny himself for long, with Harry accepting this new element to their relationship with not really any particular opinion about it, negative or positive. They graduated, and a few years later, Tom's still a manipulative little punk but Harry takes up too much of his time for him to go a-dark-lording, and viola! Here we are! A bizzare domestic life full of spiders and offhanded remarks about upcoming great events in history, and Tom doing his best not to hate himself for loving a man who is essentially a scared, eager to please child trapped in a very attractive body.

Ooh boy, was that a wall of text or what!

Anyhow, thanks for reading, if you think I could pull this off on a larger scale or maybe you want to try it then please leave a review along those lines, and have a nice day. Byeeeeee!


	18. Like Mother, Like Daughter

Pandora grows up, falls in love, gets married, and has a child. Written for no one in particular, so much as that I just really love Luna. Also the last pre-written chapter before I start on the new prompts. So yay for that. Warning for character death.

xXx

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Pandora. She had mottled blond hair and silvery eyes, and thin skin the colour of skim milk, behind which you could see the fine webbing of her veins. Pandora looked like this her entire life, and everyone said that it was because she was her parents child. They said that she took right after them. They said it when she was ten, when she thirteen, when she was fifteen, when she was a young woman twenty years of age, beautiful and talented and fascinated by so many things.

It was then, at twenty years of age, that she met Xinophilius, and first fell in love.

He was a lot more unkempt than the sort of man she would have expected to fall in love with. But then again, she figured it didn't really matter. She knew spells to clean up after him, and she could deal with a husband who occasionally forgot to brush his hair just fine. He was fun to be around, and brilliant in his own way, and a peculiar sort of charming, and he loved her back. She supposed that that was really all that mattered.

At twenty one years of age, they married. As twenty two, they had their first child. Pandora's gossamar skin glowed like every mothers skin does, and Xenophilius claimed that when the sun hit her right, he could see a child who looked just like her, tucked away inside her belly. When Pandora heard that, her skin glowed twice as much. She glowed like the moon, and they named the baby Luna.

Luna grew up like any child of two unusually strange and extraordinary parents is wont to. With classic novels instead of easy readers as bedtime stories, messy mornings as her mother juggled her latest spellcrafting discovery with making eggs and toast, half understood jokes from her dad that were funny anyways, and magic everywhere. She did indeed look just like her mother, with ratty blond curls and silvery eyes, but Pandora liked to think that there was a little of her father in there too. Maybe in the space betwixt Luna's eyes, or the slightly more human tone to her skin. In the end, though, it didn't really matter what she looked like. She could have looked like her great uncle. Pandora would love their daughter, even if she looked like a nargle.

Days passed in glorious hazes of happiness and love. Xeno came to be the editor of a newspaper, and suddenly the kitchen table was twice as covered in ink pots and paper and chalk powder. Pandora's discoveries earned her recognision in the most studius of circles, and her essays and papers hung in frames on their walls. Luna grew like a weed, all secret smiles and small stretching limbs, and a growing personality that directly echoed the world she was growing up in. She was becoming her parent's child in so many ways, everyone who met her said. She took right after them. They said it when she was five, when she was seven, when she was eight and almost nine. They said it when she was nine, and had just witnessed one of those parents untimely demise.

She's a young woman twenty years of age now, beautiful and talented and fascinated by so many things. They still say it. She prays that they'll continue.


	19. Never Had

Rita/Petunia, requested by a guest.

xXx

Petunia first fell in love with a picture.

That was it. It was just a picture. A moving one at that, that her sister had brought back from her silly magic school. It showed a cluster of girls hung over each other by a lake, huge smiles on their magically perfect faces, (it had to be magic. There was no other way they could look that happy and flawless.) and wands stuck behind ears. Her sister's red hair blew in the wind in the photo, and draped her arms over the shoulders of the two girls on either side of her. On one side stood a girl with unusually catlike eyes and pure white freckles scattered across her face. Or maybe it was paint. Either way, the girl in the back, with dusky skin and dark hair, was giving the cat-eyed girl bunny ears. She nearly got swatted in response, but avoided it, and laughed with her eyes closed. A girl with long blond hair stood on the other side of Lily, her own hand over Lily's shoulder in turn, and her other arm clutched a little red dachshund, with what looked like little red wings peeking uselessly out from where its body met the girl's. And the last girl in the photo, one with her hand wrapped around that girl's waist, at least three different writing utensils tucked into her wild bottle blonde curls...

That was the one.

Petunia wasn't really sure what it was at first. She just knew that, of all the girls in the picture, compared to the freckled girl with her ethereal features, her bright and vibrant sister, the happy energy of the dark-skinned girl, and the sweet looking slyness of the girl with the dog... the girl with ink stains on her fingers and acid green spectacles around her neck and an emerald green quill hovering at her shoulder - she was the most beautiful of them all. Petunia was sure. It was in her eyes, curious and devilish and confident. It was in the way she held herself, bent closer for the picture but with the air of a person who stood tall. It was in the way she held the blond girl's hip, and the impish smile on her face when her eyes met with the camera before looking at the others, the impishness turning to adoration.

She looked like a movie star, or a model. She looked inherently sure that everything she wanted would become true, like the world couldn't win against her if it tried. Like she could just take a step into nothing and the ground would find her feet, not the other way around.

She looked like everything Petunia wanted to be, and everything she wasn't.

Petunia took to staring at that photograph whenever she could. She'd volunteer to take things to her sister, or set things away in her room. Their relationship was growing tense, but sometimes she could go in and just sit in the same room as her sister, not even talking because that would break the spell, but for a while just ignoring how weird her sister was and pretending it was all back to normal, and just staring at a picture of blue-green eyes, hair blown in the wind, and laughter by a lake that she'd never get to see.

By the time she realised what was happening, how much she had pegged onto that girl in the photograph, she was old enough to know that it was strange for a girl to look at another girl and find her beautiful. She was old enough to know that the girl in the photograph, no matter how lovely she looked, was a freak, just like her sister.

And she was old enough to know that, even if she hadn't known better, she never would have gotten her anyways. The enchantment of the girl in the photo lay in her confidence, in the way her eyes lit up and her very fingertips seemed to vibrate with the knowledge that she was something. That the world could only hope it was enough to contain her.

And Petunia was nothing.


	20. Of Calla Lillies and Red, Red Roses

Ginny pining after Luna, with Neville being their mutual friend and lowkey shipping them. Requested by a guest, but with changes from the original request. I love this ship but I've never actually written them as anything but friends, so here goes.

xXx

Ginny feels like she's going mad.

"Oh come on. She's just dancing. You know it doesn't mean anything." Neville says from her right, his voice watery sounding amid the music and laughter and clinking glasses around them.

"I knowwwww. But that doesn't help." She whines in response, her own voice muffled by the crook of her elbow. She's sitting with her face buried in her folded arms, her back slouched over the table and her legs kicking aimlessly against the legs of the tall stool she is sitting on. Her own mug of honeyed alcohol sits only inches away, along with an empty one, but she's miserable enough sober that she doesn't want to put her friends through dealing with her when she's truly drunk.

"Well, I don't know what else to tell you. You know it's nothing serious." Neville says next, and she can practically sense him rolling his eyes. "Besides, if you're so upset about, then go ask if she'll dance with you instead. You're a Gryffindor. Be brave for once."

She considers pointing out that he is hardly the one qualified to say that, considering he still has yet to ask Hannah out, even though he worships the ground the other girl walks on and they text one another practically 24/7. But instead she grunts, and lifts her head up.

Luna is twirling around with some random, stereotypically handsome wizard on the dancefloor, and they look ridiculously perfect together. Her turnip earrings swing back and forth, her pale curls shimmer with purple glitter, and her velvety dress is so colourful it burns the eyes a little. Her smile, too, is blinding. Violet lipstick actually suits her, and she looks so happy to be where she is that Ginny's chest tightens a little. The man, whoever he is, is smiling just as much, and Ginny can see their lips moving but doesn't know what they're saying.

She feels jealous. She wants to get them apart.

She prepares to say no, but instead a vague sound of agreement escapes her lips, and she looks over to see Neville giving her a look of surprise and pride. She returns it with surprise of her own, before looking back to Luna, who, maybe entirely by chance, just happens to be looking their way at that moment. Their eyes meet, and Ginny's heart skips a beat as Luna shoots her a grin, before she twists away with the wizard's hand still in tow.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Ginny says, properly this time. She takes a sip of her drink and runs a hand through her hair, dusts cracker crumbs off her jeans, and applies a quick layer of tinted chapstick. Suddenly she wishes she'd bothered with more than eyeshadow that night.

She is so not ready for this.

She is so doing this anyways.

"Then go get her, tiger." Neville says as she tucks the chapstick back into her pocket, and it's such a stupid, sappy thing to say that she laughs a little as she hops off the stool.

"Thanks. Um. Bye." She says, and hears him yell good luck, but all she can see is Luna, who had pulled her partner to a stop to wave at Ginny as she approaches.

Time to prove that the Sorting hat was right.


	21. He Hates Me, He Hates Me Not

Bellatrix/Snape, requested by a guest. The book this takes place in is undetermined, though, so imagine this taking place whenever you like.

xXx

She likes the way he always smells like poisons and dark dank places.

Then she likes the way his irritated glare sends others scrambling, and shivers down her spine.

Then she likes the way he speaks, toxicity dripping from his tongue, each syllable sounded out painfully slow, like he's speaking to imbeciles.

Then she likes watching him work, spellwork and knives and crushed shake fangs mixed together to capture death itself in one little bottle.

Then she likes the way he looks, tall and dark and menacing, long black hair unwashed and face wrinkled at the edges from years of anger, just like hers is darkened and sharp from years of screaming into an abyss.

Then she likes the way he looks at her with distaste and hatred, the rejection forming a craving in the back of her broken mind.

She likes the way he hates her.

xXx

My dad hid my book today and I told him he's never going to meet his grandchildren. I found the book, but my threat remains.

Thank you for reading, have a nice day, and byeeeeeeeee!


	22. Smile

Lavender/Trelawney, requested by a guest who regrets nothing.

xXx

Lavender spends half of every Divination class staring at Professor Trelawney, and wondering what she'd look like if she put any product in her hair. Anything. Hand lotion, shaving cream, mentholatum. Possibly toothpaste, and then she'd also have the benefit of smelling minty fresh, rather that like...

She took a deep, slow breath as her professor wanders past, and frowns into her crystal ball. (which is showing frustratingly little.) Like... chrysanthemums and gladiolus, old books and fabric, cooking sherry, sweat and candle smoke.

Actually, scratch that toothpaste thing. Trelawney smells like a hot mess, but she _is_ a hot mess, and Lavender kind of likes her that way. She has enough minty fresh, well polished teachers.

She needs a half crazed, homespun, mystical one in there, to stare at and smile at.

Years later, after a great battle, they meet again. Trelawney's hair is yet to have any product added to it. Lavender has a mass of scars. They are older, and in some ways, more tired.

Lavender stares at the women who was once her professor, sitting beside her at a pub, smelling like flowers and old linen and wine, and she smiles.

xXx

Aight, so, readers. You may have noticed it's been a while. There's a reason for that. Mainly it's regarding requests.

If you go back to chapter one and read the guidelines for requests, you'll notice a few things implied, if not explicitly stated. One is that I require at least _one clearly defined relationship._ These drabbles are based on various ships, and that is the main factor in writing them. I can get a little creative, but if you do not explicitly state what sort of relationship you want, I can't really write as well. For instance, if you request two characte performing an action together or spending time together in some way. Great, if I was just asking for any old prompt. Alas, I am not. I need at least an idea of what the relationship is. If you want to include an action or maybe a bit of backstory, that is fine, as long as the ship is included. I can work with that. However, if you want something based entirely on an action, I suggest looking for other similar review based fics.

You will also notice that I pretty bluntly state that I lay claim to creative freedom. That means that I am not obligated to write what you ask, or exactly what you ask. I might slightly change your request. I may lack inspiration, and therefore put it off. I may simply dislike your request. Keeping this in mind, here are some not neccessarily rules, but tips for things I prefer to write, and things I avoid:

I am fine with both M/M, M/F, and F/F. That said, some mixes past that I do avoid. I am not partial to threesomes and I avoid some sexualities and identities because I don't have experience with them and don't want to misrepresent them.

I am perfectly fine with taboo things. Go ahead, request enemies to lovers, underage, or twincest. Request Marge and Vernon. I have absolutely no clue how to do that _still_, but by all means, ask! The limit is your imagination! However, there is a difference between taboo and crassness.

Lastly, I forgot to mention this, but if you're a guest, please leave something resembling a name to prevent confusion. You can just type in a number. Press A a couple times, followed by H. It would just be nicer than having fifteen chapter requested by "Guest" but no clarification as to which one. Some of you are already doing this, and thanks.

Okay so that's all. Thank you for reading, and byeeeeeee!


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